A Foal

Called Storm
 Read all the books in the
Jasmine Green Rescues series
A Piglet Called Truffle
A Duckling Called Button
A Collie Called Sky
A Kitten Called Holly
A Lamb Called Lucky
A Goat Called Willow
A Donkey
y Call
Called Mistletoe
A Foal
al Called
Call Storm
 A Foal
Called Storm

Helen Peters
illustrated by Ellie Snowdon

WALKER BOOKS
 This is a work of fiction.
Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of
the author’s imagination or, if real, are used fictitiously.

Text copyright © 2021 by Helen Peters

Illustrations copyright © 2021 by Ellie Snowdon

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, transmitted,

or stored in an information retrieval system in any form or by any means,
graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, taping, and
recording, without prior written permission from the publisher.

First US edition 2022

First published by Nosy Crow (UK) 2021

Library of Congress Catalog Card Number 2021947145

ISBN 978-1-5362-2271-5 (hardcover)
ISBN 978-1-5362-2272-2 (paperback)

22 23 24 25 26 27 LBM 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

Printed in Melrose Park, IL, USA

This book was typeset in Bembo.

The illustrations were done in pencil with a digital wash overlay.

Walker Books US
a division of
Candlewick Press
99 Dover Street
Somerville, Massachusetts 02144

www.walkerbooksus.com

A JUNIOR LIBRARY GUILD SELECTION

For Greta, Arthur,
Polly, and Betsy
HP

For Clare x
ES
 1
Where Have You Come From?
“That was a massive storm last night,” said Jasmine
to her sheepdog as she clambered over a fallen tree
branch. “Did the thunder scare you, Sky?”
Sky leaped over the branch and ran along the
riverbank, wagging his fluffy tail. If he had been
frightened by the thunder, he showed no sign of it
this morning.
It was the last Tuesday of May, and the school
year had just finished. Jasmine had gotten up early,
as usual, and had fed her other animals before
walking Sky. She needed to be organized today
because she had two rabbits coming to stay for
the rest of the week.
Jasmine sometimes looked after other people’s
pets when they went on vacation. The money she
made helped to pay for her animals’ food. It was
also good experience because she was planning to
have an animal rescue center and boarding facility
when she grew up.
They were almost back at the farmhouse when
Jasmine heard a strange sound. Frowning in con-
fusion, she stopped and listened.
The farm was full of noises: birds singing in the
hedgerows, sheep baaing in the meadows, roost-
ers crowing in the yard.
But this was different. It was a high-pitched
whinny. None of the animals on Oak Tree Farm
sounded like that.
Jasmine walked past the farmhouse toward the
field called the Sixteen Acres, where the sound
seemed to have come from. There were no ani-
mals there at the moment.
 And then she stopped and stared in amazement.
Standing beside the hedge was a beautiful
chestnut foal. It had a white blaze on its face and
white socks on its hind legs. As Jasmine watched
in awe, it lifted its head and gave another high-
pitched whinny.
What was a foal doing there?
Jasmine’s heart raced as the possibilities ran
through her head. Her mom was a vet. Maybe she
had brought the foal to the farm to recover after
an illness or an operation. She had never done
that before, but it was possible.
But if she had, then why hadn’t she mentioned
it? Suddenly a truly thrilling thought struck
Jasmine.
What if the foal was a present? Had Mom and
Dad actually bought her a foal of her own?
Her excitement drained away as she consid-
ered this in more detail. She already had two cats,
a pig, a duck, a sheepdog, a ram, a deer, and a
donkey. Apart from her cats, Toffee and Marmite,
Jasmine had rescued all these animals. And she had
always had to convince her parents in order to
keep them. Every time, they reminded her how
many animals she already had, how much they
cost to feed, how much space they needed, and
how much time it took to look after them.
But Jasmine was an optimist. Although it was
unlikely, it wasn’t impossible. She clipped on Sky’s
leash and slowly approached the field.
The field gate was wide open, and suddenly
Jasmine understood how ridiculous her hopes
were. Even if her parents had bought her the foal,
they certainly wouldn’t have left it alone in a field
with the gate open.
So whose was it, and where had it come from?
As she drew closer, she saw that something was
very wrong.
The foal was soaking wet. It must have been
out in that terrible storm that had blown through.
The foal was shivering all over, which could have
been from the cold, but looked more like fear.
Its nostrils flared and quivered, and the whites of
its eyes were showing. Its tail was clamped down
against its body. Its ears swiveled rapidly, flicking
back and forth, as though it was about to flee at
any moment.
Jasmine stopped several yards away and spoke in
a soft murmur, trying to soothe the little creature.
“What’s wrong, little foal? Are you lost?
 Thee foal was
beautiful,
ful, with
big darkark eyes,
a short
hort mane
andd tail, and
longg legs. As
Jasminene softly
approached,
ached, it
backed
ed away,
terrifi
fied. She
noticeded it was
limping. g.
“Oh! You’re

There was a nasty cut on the foal’s hind leg.

The gaping wound looked recent, and there was
a lot of dried blood around it.
“You poor thing. What happened to you?”
The wound looked deep enough to need
stitches. That was a job for Mom, but she was
out on an emergency call.
 Jasmine thought quickly. An animal as ner-
vous as this might bolt if anything startled it. She
needed to keep the foal safe, but it was far too
jumpy to let her approach it. She would just have
to shut it in the field.
“I’m going to close this,” she said as she walked
slowly and quietly to the gate. “Don’t worry,
you’re safe now. I’ll look after you.”
Jasmine had never cared for a foal before, but
she had dealt with other frightened animals. She
stood by the gate, speaking gently, trying to reas-
sure the trembling creature.
“You’re a boy, aren’t you? I wonder what your
name is. Do you even have a name? Are you an
orphan? Are you hungry?”
If only Mom were here. But even if she were,
she wouldn’t be able to treat the foal’s wound
when he was this nervous. He would bolt if any-
one went near him and probably give himself
another injury.
Suddenly Jasmine knew what she needed to do.
 “I’ll fetch some rails and build you a pen. That’s
what Mom does if she treats an animal in the
field. And I’ll phone Tom to come and help. He’ll
be so excited to meet you.”
She took Sky back to the house and phoned
Tom. He was Jasmine’s best friend, and they had
rescued many animals together. He lived very
close to Oak Tree Farm, so he and Jasmine could
walk to each other’s houses.
“That’s amazing,” he said. “I’ll come over right
away.”
Jasmine fetched metal rails from the lamb-
ing barn and carried them to the field one by
one. As she approached the gate, the foal backed
away, trembling. His ears were pinned back.
Jasmine knew from experience with her donkey,
Mistletoe, that this was another sign of anxiety.
When she opened the gate, the foal cocked his
hind hoof, preparing to kick.
“Thanks for the warning,” she said. “I’ll stay far
away from your back legs.” As she carried the last
rail in, Tom walked into the field.
“He’s so beautiful!” he said. “I can’t believe he
just turned up here.”
“I know. But he’s so scared, poor baby. Look
how he’s shivering.”
“Do you think he ran away? How did he get
that horrible cut?”
“I don’t know, but something bad must have
happened to him. He’s way too young to be away
from his mom.”
“Have you phoned the police?”
Jasmine didn’t want to admit she hadn’t thought
of this. “Mom will phone them when she gets
home,” she said.
“Maybe he was abandoned,” said Tom. “Or
stolen.”
“He can’t have been stolen. If he was, the
thieves would have him, wouldn’t they? They
wouldn’t have left him here.”
 “Unless he escaped,” said Tom.
While they constructed the pen, they talked
softly to the foal, hoping to get him to relax and
start to trust them.
“His coat’s a lovely color,” said Tom. “I like his
white socks, too.”
“And those cute little white markings on his
forelegs, just above his hooves,” said Jasmine.
By the time they’d finished, the foal had stopped
trembling, but his mouth was tight and pinched
and his body was still rigid with stress.
“How are we going to get him into the pen?”
Tom asked.
“I’m not sure. When Mom treats foals, she
always gets their mother to lead them in. They
follow their moms anywhere.”
“What about putting some food in there?”
“I don’t know what to give him,” said Jasmine.
“He looks too young for solid food and I don’t
know if it’s safe to give him cow’s milk.”
“Can you phone your mom?”
 “Not really. She’s probably delivering a calf
right now.”
From the orchard came a loud braying sound.
The little foal pricked up his ears.
Tom’s eyes widened. “What about Mistletoe?”
“To lead him into the pen?”
“Yes. Maybe the foal would follow him.”
Jasmine looked doubtful. “He’s not going to
think Mistletoe’s his mom.”
“No, but horses and donkeys usually get along,
don’t they? Mr. Hobson said people have donkeys
as companions for their horses, and some people
use them as babysitters for foals.”
Mr. Hobson was Mistletoe’s previous owner,
and he knew everything about donkeys.
“Well, if anyone can calm him down, it will be
Mistletoe,” said Jasmine. “He’s the kindest donkey
in the whole world.”
 2
A Good Sign
Mistletoe was browsing in the orchard with
Jasmine’s pet deer, Dotty. Jasmine fetched his
halter and lead rope.
“Hello, Mistletoe,” she said. “There’s somebody
we’d like you to meet.”
She held out the halter so the donkey could sniff
it. He was used to wearing it, but it was good man-
ners to warn him before she slipped it over his head.
Mistletoe was twenty years old and very patient
and calm. Jasmine had no worries about his
behavior, but she wasn’t sure how the foal would
react to him.
When the foal saw Mistletoe approaching the
field, he froze, staring at the small brown don-
key. Mistletoe stared back. The foal lifted his head,
gave a loud snort, and shied away.
Jasmine and Tom exchanged worried glances.
“Should we take Mistletoe back to the
orchard?” asked Tom.
But Jasmine was reluctant to give up so soon.
“I think they’ll be fine. They can stay away from
each other if they want to. I’ll just leave Mistletoe’s
halter on in case we need to catch him quickly.”
Mistletoe walked calmly into the field. He
wasn’t looking at the foal, but Jasmine had learned
to read the language of his ears. His left ear was
trained on Jasmine, but his right ear was swiveling
around in the direction of the foal.
The foal stood facing away from them. As
Jasmine watched, he turned his head to look at
Mistletoe.
 “He’s curious,” she said. “That must be a good
sign.”
“I guess we should give them time to get to
know each other,” said Tom.
Jasmine unclipped Mistletoe’s lead rope and sat
on the grassy bank at the edge of the field to
watch the animals.
“The foal is so gorgeous, isn’t he?” she said.
“He’s got such a cute face and such beautiful eyes.”
“We should give him a name,” said Tom. “Just
for the time he’s with us, I mean. We can’t keep
calling him ‘the foal.’ ”
“How about Storm?” Jasmine suggested. “He
arrived in a storm, and he’s probably had a stormy
life, poor little thing.”
“That suits him,” said Tom. “What do you
think, Storm?”
Mistletoe looked toward the foal, who had
walked farther off and was facing the other way.
Mistletoe stared at him for a few seconds and then
wandered off in the opposite direction.
 Storm turned to face Mistletoe. He stared at
the donkey, took a few steps forward, and then
stopped and turned away.
Mistletoe turned to look at the foal again. He
ambled slowly toward him. He stopped several
yards away and looked directly at him. Storm
returned his look.
“Aren’t Harry’s rabbits coming today?” asked
Tom, sitting on the bank beside Jasmine. “Ugh,
this grass is soaking wet.”
“Yes, he’s bringing them at eleven.”
“Have you told your parents they’re house rab-
bits yet?”
“Not exactly. Actually, I think they’ve forgot-
ten they’re coming. I asked them ages ago, and I
haven’t exactly reminded them.”
“They won’t mind, though, will they? They’re
such cute rabbits. You’ll just have to keep the
living-room door shut when they’re out of their
hutch, in case the cats get in.”
“The cats aren’t allowed in the living room
anyway,” said Jasmine, “after they scratched the
furniture. Mom and Dad would be fine with the
rabbits normally, but Auntie Evil’s coming today,
and she hates animals.”
“Is she the one who said your cats should be
put down?”
“Yes. She’s horrible. But she’s Dad’s auntie so he
invites her to stay sometimes. I don’t know why
he bothers; she spends the whole time moaning
about everything.”
“Look,” said Tom, pointing at the animals.
Mistletoe was standing close to Storm. The
little foal took a few tentative steps toward him.
Then, to Jasmine’s delight, he walked right up
to Mistletoe and sniffed his face. Mistletoe stood
perfectly still while Storm sniffed around his
mouth and nose.
Jasmine held her breath. This was a really
important process. Animals got to know each
other mainly by smell.
Mistletoe let Storm sniff him for a while, then
turned and walked away. Storm stayed completely
still, his big eyes fixed on the donkey.
A few minutes later, Mistletoe ambled back
toward the foal. Storm sniffed his face again. This
time, Mistletoe sniffed him in return. Once he
had explored the foal’s face, he sniffed his mane,
withers, and back. Then he walked away. Storm
followed him.
Mistletoe broke into a trot. Storm watched
him trotting around the edge of the field, then he
started limping after the donkey. Mistletoe turned
around and trotted after Storm.
“Look!” exclaimed Jasmine. “They’re playing
together! They must be making friends.”
 The animals slowed to a walk, some distance
apart from each other. Jasmine heard a vehicle
pull into the farmyard.
“Oh, good, Mom’s back,” she said, walking to
the gate.
But it wasn’t her mom’s car. It was a big shiny
pickup truck. The passenger door opened and
Harry got out.
“Oh, no! They’re early. I won’t be able to warn
Mom.”
“Maybe that’s better,” said Tom. “If the rabbits
are already in the living room when your mom
gets back, she can’t really say no, can she?”
 3
Buster and Daisy
Tom stayed with Mistletoe and Storm while
Jasmine went to greet Harry.
“You must be Jasmine,” said Harry’s dad, who
was lifting things out of the truck bed. “I’m Adam.
I’m afraid there’s a lot of stuff. I hope you’ve got a
big living room.”
“Quite big,” said Jasmine. Then she walked
around to the back of the truck and her mouth
fell open in shock.
“It’s a two-tier hutch,” said Mr. Adam. “And
these railings clip together to make the playpen.”
“Wow,” said Jasmine. “Where are the rabbits?”
Harry took a carrying case from the back seat.
“Here.”
Having seen the vast two-story cage and the
huge number of playpen pieces, Jasmine expected
the rabbits to be enormous. So she was surprised
to find a pair of tiny little bunnies peering out at
her. They had long floppy ears, fluffy golden fur,
shining dark eyes, and little twitching noses.
“Oh, they’re so cute! Are they babies?”
“No,” said Harry, “but Miniature Lops always
look like babies.”
“They’re gorgeous. What are their names?”
“Buster and Daisy. They’re a boy and girl, but
they’ve both been neutered.”
“Leave them in the car while we set everything
up,” said Mr. Adam. “Where should we take the
supplies, Jasmine?”
Jasmine picked up a stack of playpen segments.
“I’ll show you.”
 It took a long time to set it all up. The giant
two-story cage sat inside the playpen, which was
three feet high. It took up half the living room,
so they had to move all the furniture into the
other half. By the time they’d finished, there was
barely room for a person to squeeze between the
furniture.
Jasmine’s stomach squirmed as she looked at
the rearranged room. It was great that the rabbits
had so much space, but she wasn’t looking for-
ward to the moment when her mom walked in.
After they had fetched the toys, tunnels, nest-
ing boxes, water bottles, food, hay, rubber mat-
ting, and litter tray, they went back to get the
rabbits. Mom drove into the farmyard as Harry
lifted the carrier out. Jasmine could tell from her
puzzled face that she hadn’t remembered they
were coming.
“Hello, Nadia,” said Mr. Adam. “Thanks so
much for looking after the rabbits.”